


Pause and Play

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: Virtual Series 3 tags [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen, Virtual Series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, how was your day at work, Dad?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pause and Play

**Author's Note:**

> The first of several 'episode tags' I wrote for an amazing team effort by several Primeval writers to create a 'Virtual Series 3' - long, plotty fics aiming to mimic the style of one of the TV episodes, joined together in a series.

            Legolas flew down a set of stone stairs on a shield, firing arrows at some orcs, just as the lock clunked in the front door, which opened. “Hi, Dad?” Liz yelled, scrabbling for the remote and pausing the film.

 

            Her father appeared, and she sat up straight, folds of the blanket wrapped round her sliding off the sofa, in order to get a proper look at him. He was wearing jeans, a fleece, and a t-shirt, when she knew for a fact he’d left the flat in a suit this morning. He even looked slightly ruffled. Dirty, even.

 

            He glanced at the TV. “What are you watching?”  


            “Lord of the Rings. The Two Towers. You can join me if you like?” Liz suggested, staring at her father. That was _definitely_ blood on his fleece. “Dad!”

 

            “Yes?”

 

            “What the _hell_ have you been doing? I mean-“ she rephrased, grinning at him, her tone morphing into a sickly-sweet Daddy’s-little-princess one- “how was your day at work, Daddy?”

 

            Lester removed the fleece and hung it on the back of a chair. His shoes, which had been caked in mud, were already off. “Dreadful,” he said crisply, and Liz made room for him on the sofa. He sat down, and wrested some of the blanket from her. It was quite cold; he supposed the heating was on the blink again, and made a mental note to write a stiff note to the caretaker, who was supposed to deal with this kind of thing.

 

            “Aw, poor Dad.” Liz put an arm around him and squeezed briefly. “Bad luck. What happened- or can’t you tell me?”

 

            “I-“ Lester halted, and looked at his daughter. He had explained to Liz a long time ago that his job was covered by the Official Secrets Act, and she’d listened and- bless her –rarely said anything about it. He’d had to do some pretty quick lying over the future-bat incident, but an implausible explanation involving a filing cabinet with sharp corners that needed moving and incompetent maintenance men followed by a rant about said maintenance men had covered it, he thought. Liz probably still suspected, but she said nothing.

 

            He suddenly wished he could tell her the truth; there was a lot he would have liked to say right now. _I was obliged to bury a colleague, Cutter almost had a nervous breakdown, and an auditor was imposed on me. He started saying all the things I’ve been saying about Cutter and the team, except that he annoyed me when he said them- I showed him Dumbo the mammoth, which afforded a certain amount of innocent amusement, but I almost lost my temper with the man. Oh, and an anomaly opened onto an extinction event in the Cretaceous, and Miss Maitland decided to try and play Animal Hospital, and I got flambéd primordial dog on my jacket._

 

            He collected himself, realising that he couldn’t tell Liz any of this, and that she was still looking at him, brown eyes unwavering. Sometimes, Liz reminded him a lot of her mother Kathy, but if Kathy had been in this situation there would have been more accusation in her eyes than there was in Liz’s: he was very glad that _like mother, like daughter_ did not hold true where his daughter was concerned. “I can’t tell you,” he said reluctantly, but then added, in his most deadpan voice: “Auditors were involved.” It was part of the truth, at least.

 

            Liz laughed, and hugged him again, then fished around for the remote. “I won’t pester you.”

 

           Lester produced the remote from where he’d been sitting on it. “Thanks, Liz.”

 

           He pressed play, and the TV screen unfroze. Orlando Bloom skittered down the last few steps and ditched his unorthodox sledge, and normal life resumed.


End file.
